


5 Star Hotel

by orphan_account



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: BDSM, M/M, Spanking, edgeplay plus schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2019-06-29 12:27:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15729393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: It’s not quite fair to say Steve sprung it on him. At half past seven in the morning, Sam was taking the first driving shift, and only getting started on his second cup of joe. But it was Sam who said he missed lazy weekends and first-thing-in-the-morning sex.





	5 Star Hotel

Steve’s wrists are tied to the headboard, which is a joke. It would be a joke even if they were back in Sam’s sturdy four poster in D.C. with real handcuffs, and with this hotel’s rickety plywood and some rope they picked up at a hardware store, it’s especially laughable. Sam still made a show of tugging the knots as tight as he could, leaning over into Steve’s space and pulling back when Steve raised his head and tried to press messy, open-mouthed kissed to Sam’s chest. Sam deserves a medal for that alone.

Sam works a second finger into Steve’s ass. Sam can’t remember who’s idea it was, his or Steve’s, to get prep out of the way first. When he agreed to it, Sam didn’t consider how hard it would be to fuck Steve open on his fingers and then shift gears. Right about now, Sam just wants to slide his dick into that tight, slick heat and feel Steve tense and then relax around him like he has a hundred times before. That's not an experience that gets old. Ever.  
  
Steve raises his head off the pillows and raises his eyebrows at Sam. Sam wonders if Steve expects him to get distracted, to not go through with it. Sam frowns.

* * *

  
It’s not quite fair to say Steve sprung it on him. At half past seven in the morning, Sam was taking the first shift driving, and he was only getting started on his second cup of joe. But it was Sam who said he missed lazy weekends and first-thing-in-the-morning sex.  
  
The only reason it was a shock is because in two years, Steve has never expressed an interest in anything more adventurous than having his hair pulled or holding Sam up against a wall while he fucks him.

“I just want...” Steve made an exasperated noise, like he didn’t really see the point of unpacking this. Regardless, he was gonna have to do Sam the courtesy. “I just want this with you. Isn’t that enough?”

“Come on, man. You know me better than that.”

Steve sighed. “I guess I do.” He only sounded mildly put out, which was progress.

Steve took a moment to think. Sam kept his eyes on the road and let him alone.

“I think I just want... I don’t know. To pretend I can still get hurt.”

“Steve,” Sam said. “You _can_ still get hurt.”

“You know what I mean.”

Sam took his eyes off the road to look at Steve, just for a second. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

* * *

  
“What do you have to smile about?” Sam says. Steve smiles even harder for a split second before he manages a straight face. He’s a terrible actor.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Sam says, voice stern. He pulls his fingers out of Steve’s ass suddenly and wipes them on the sheets. They can sleep in the other bed tonight. Sam makes a mental note to be sure to strip the sheets themselves before checking out tomorrow.

He looks at Steve again. It’s endearing, how he’s playing along, obediently leaving his wrists limp in his restraints. Looking skeptical, almost dubious, about the whole venture in spite of it being his idea. Sam wants to do this right. Steve may be a bad liar, but Sam is decent when he wants to be.

“You’ve got a lot of nerve,” Sam says. “Looking at me funny when you’re already in trouble. You're not gonna be smiling in a minute.”

“Is that so,” Steve says, raising his eyebrows. Sam narrowly avoids breaking character to give Steve a dirty look. The least he can do is work with Sam a little.

Sam represses that urge. Instead, he maintains eye contact, reaches down, and begins unbuckling his belt. He lets Steve watch as he slides it slowly through his belt-loops. Steve’s eyes flicker from the belt to Sam’s face a few times, and for a second he looks surprised, looks _almost_ intimidated. That’s something, at least. Sam can work with that.

Sam suddenly imagines taking Steve by surprise and flipping him on his stomach. Flipping him over and fucking him into the mattress hard, interlocking their fingers. God. Holding Steve’s hand palm-down against the bed, fingers joined, like he did that time in Toulouse, when they were newly on the run and somehow infatuated all over again. Mouthing at the line of Steve’s spine and hearing him moan, coming unwound under him. Opened up and prone and letting Sam have him, wanting him to. And Sam thinking, “How the hell did I get this lucky?" like it was the summer of 2014 and...

Sam clears his throat and gives himself a shake. Getting Steve on his stomach might make him feel dominated, was where he was going with that. Too late for that now, though.

“Yep,” Sam says. “I’m going to do what someone should've done about a century ago.”

He half-expects Steve to point out he wasn’t actually born yet, but Steve doesn’t respond immediately. Sam takes the opportunity to sit on the bed by Steve’s side, to turn his back to Steve’s face and bend Steve’s thighs back under his left arm. He hears or maybe feels Steve’s breath catch slightly.

“Oh yeah?” Steve says, and either he’s a better actor than Sam thought, or his equilibrium is shaken. “What’s that?”

“Spank you til you can’t even _think_ of any more smart ass remarks.” Sam brings the belt down before he can lose his nerve.

The noise is loud - God, Sam hopes they don’t have any direct neighbors - and heavier, more solid than Sam was expecting, closer to a punch than a playful slap on the ass. Steve inhales sharply through his nose. Sam does it again: two, five, ten more times. The sight of the deep pink marks rising at slanted angles to one another on Steve’s skin is morbidly fascinating, if not exactly sexy. Steve never makes a sound other than a sharp, sudden breath in when the belt makes impact.

Sam pauses at ten, and almost immediately Steve says, “That all you got?”

Sam can’t help laughing. He turns to look at Steve.

“Oh, you need to be spanked harder, huh?”

“You tell me.”

Sam gives Steve an unimpressed look that’s half genuine. Most people Sam has been with just owned this stuff. He’s pretty sure Gabrielle listed bondage as an interest right on her dating profile. Ashley and his foot thing? Zero shame. Of course, the thing is, Sam doesn’t want to be with any of those people.

He hasn’t ever regretted meeting Steve, even when he misses his family and his friends from work and his buddies at the gym and daydreams about sleeping in a familiar space. (Just figures that having finally adjusted, his sleeping habits would get disrupted again.) If he can deal with all of that, he can handle a little cantankerous roleplay.

He gives Steve another smack, as hard as he can. Steve isn’t expecting it, and he jumps.

“I think you do,” Sam says, voice as disapproving as he can get it. “I think you’re a jumped up little pain in the ass, and you need someone to put you in your place.”

Steve goes still and quiet. Sam is... not sure if that’s a good or bad sign.

“Color?”

Steve’s voice is breathless and quiet when he says, “Green.”

Alright then.

Sam loses count of how many times he brings the belt down on Steve’s ass. He’s strict with himself about not pulling his punches. It’s Steve. Physical injury isn’t the worry here, and Sam gets the feeling Steve needs this to, you know, _actually_ hurt.

He never does cry out, not even when the tops of his thighs and the underside of his ass are streaked with deep red edging into purple in spots. That’s when Sam calls it. He’s at the limit of what he’s comfortable doing, even to a super-healing partner. He drops Steve’s legs to the bed and turns to get a look at him.

Steve’s blushing, which isn’t surprising. He usually blushes during sex. He’s also really hard. When he raised his eyes they look bright, maybe even wet. He tucks his head and turns it to the side, breaking eye contact self-consciously. Wow. This really got to him.

“Hey.” Sam reaches out and traces the line of Steve's jaw through his beard, brushes Steve’s bottom lip with his thumb. “Hey, baby.”

That’s not entirely within the bounds of the scenario Steve described, but Sam can’t bring himself to care. He’s playing it by ear.

Pain, in and of itself, has never done much for Sam. Giving or receiving it. But he can’t deny that Steve looks good like this. Turned on, shook up, half-distressed. It’s the rare openness Sam sometimes gets to see after really, really good sex, minus the relaxed, happy satisfaction. Sam loves seeing Steve happy. Still, vulnerability plus desperation. Sam’s not above enjoying that.

His organic impulse is to kiss Steve, soft and sweet, for a long time. His impulse is to ask Steve if he’s okay, and pet his hair back from his face. Say something along the lines of, “You’re something else. I want to know all the crazy shit you’re into. I want this kind of thing with you.”

He really wants to find the lube in the covers and work a wet hand around Steve’s dick until he’s leaking and desperate. Wants to push Steve’s thighs back again and press the head of his own dick to Steve’s slick, pink hole and watch Steve’s expression at the exact moment Sam pushes through his instinctive resistance and slides up inside him. Wants to hold his face — so Sam would be getting lube in his beard. There are grosser things — and kiss him when he winces at the friction against his sore ass and tell him he’s _fucking beautiful._

But, well. That’s still not what Steve asked for. Sam really does want to give him what he asked for. There will be plenty of other nights to make out while they fuck.

Sam takes Steve’s jaw firmly in his hand and holds him still while he leans in and kisses him suddenly, roughly. He doesn’t give Steve the chance to kiss back before he slips his tongue between Steve’s teeth, just for an instant. Then he pulls away. Steve blinks up at him, open-mouthed.

Sam takes a deep breath.

“How does your ass feel?” he says, careful not to sound too sympathetic.

Steve gives a small, breathless laugh. “It hurts.”

“Uh-huh. Think you learned your lesson?”

Steve looks like he might be considering talking back, and Sam doesn’t feel up to another go-round of this, so he takes Steve by the hair and pulls hard. “Hm?”

“Yes,” Steve gasps. “Yeah. Jesus.” Sam briefly considers the possibility of pretending to get mad at him for taking the Lord’s name in vain or something, but decides against it. His upper arm really does hurt, spanking must require some highly specific muscle groups.

“Think you’re ready to make it up to me?” Sam reaches across Steve to undo the ropes tying his hands. Then he looks him in the eye. “Ready to show me you can be good?”

Steve’s reaction catches Sam off guard. He looks distressed. He shuts his eyes tight, and tears leak from the corners. Then he says, “Yes, sir.”

Woah. Sam hesitates. Steve never mentioned a military element to this. He also never said, “By the way, I might start crying. Don’t worry about it. It’s cool.”

“Steve?” Sam says. “What’s your color?”

“ _Green_ ,” Steve says. It’s instant, and emphatic. It’s one step down from, _Don’t you dare stop now._ Of course, Steve would never say that. They both know Sam gets to choose.

Sam, for a moment, stops and thinks about it. He came out of the service with his own baggage, his own triggers. The idea of calling anyone “sir” during sex gives Sam a nails-on-a-chalkboard feeling. But that’s him.

The real question here is if he’s comfortable fucking someone who’s crying and fantasizing a severe power imbalance, military or otherwise. More specifically, is he comfortable with fucking _Steve_ while he’s crying and fantasizing about a severe power imbalance. Sam looks at Steve, watches a tear begin to creep down his cheek. Thinks about the unequivocal want in Steve's voice just now. Saying, coded or otherwise: _Yes. Yes. Please._ He looks at how hard Steve is, still.

Sam thinks he’d take the former on a case-to-case basis, but the answer to the latter feels like a pretty damn definitive yes.

It’s Steve. He wants to be part of the weird stuff.

“Alright,” Sam says. “Good.”

He flips Steve on his stomach, then pulls him up onto hands and knees. The idea was initially for Sam to go straight from spanking Steve to fucking him, but Sam is taking this at his own pace. He’s in charge, after all.

Sam wasn’t wrong about how good it feels to slide his dick into Steve’s ass, to feel Steve’s hole clench and work to relax for him. Sam sighs and takes a moment to enjoy it. Normally, right about now he’d tell Steve how good he feels. Might be feeling sentimental enough already to call him “baby” or “honey.” He considers his options.

“Good boy,” he says. Steve tenses and lets out a shaky, uneven breath. Okay. Noted.

Sam works up to a fast, jarring rhythm quickly. It’s not hard, or even truly out of the ordinary for them. Which mean it might not be what Steve wants.

Sam puts a hand on the back of Steve’s neck and pushes him down, first to his elbows and then, insistently, further until Steve is face down on the mattress. This, of all things, is what gets an actual vocalization out of Steve. It’s more a noise of indignation than anything, but Sam hears something more vulnerable in it, too. Something like a plea.

In the back of his head, somewhere behind the muddle of desire, affection, and concern currently dominating his thoughts, Sam is amused by Steve taking offense at being put in a standard variation of doggy style after what they’ve already done tonight. Still, he checks.

“Color?”

“Green,” Steve says, and it really does sound like a complaint this time. _I want it, but I don’t like it._ Sam runs his thumb along the nape of Steve’s neck where his hair is starting to curl. Quickly, as if he might be able to get away with it without Steve noticing. Then he goes back to holding his face against the mattress and fucking him as hard as he can humanly manage.

When Steve gasps and shudders under him, Sam stops and checks in. Given the go ahead, it probably takes less than a minute before he's coming as well. 

Sam collapses on the mattress, winded. At his side, Steve rolls onto his back and winces.

“Jeez,” Steve says, voice rough. He looks wiped out. More relaxed than Sam hardly ever sees him.

Sam reaches over and touches a fingertip to the lingering moisture at the corner of Steve’s eye. Steve gives a tired laugh, then looks up at him for the first time. Sam can see, then, that Steve is pretty blissed out. Sam breathes a sigh of relief, a last modicum of tension he hadn't been aware of leaving his body.

Sam leans over and kisses him. Soft, lingering. The way he wanted to halfway through. “Mm,” Steve says against his mouth.

Sam pulls back and props himself on his elbow. “How do you feel?”

Steve turns his head towards Sam with his eyes still closed, relaxed on the pillow. “Good. You really did a number on me. It hurts.” He sounds mildly impressed.

Sam laughs. “No kidding.” He brushes Steve’s hair back from his forehead. “You took it like a champ," he adds, voice softer.

Steve opens his eyes and looks at Sam sharply, a spark of interest in his eye. “You're flirting with me,” he says, frowning.

Sam makes a noncommittal noise. "I'm appreciating you," he says. He scoots closer and lays his head on Steve’s chest. “But don't worry. I'm ready for a nap myself.”

After a few minutes of silence, Sam looks over his shoulder at the sheets. They’re a mess, covered in wet spots of sweat, tears, and come. There are even a few dark specks of blood Sam must have drawn with the belt without realizing it. Oops.

“Do you want to move to the other bed to sleep?” Sam asks. He snuggles in closer to Steve’s side, already knowing the answer.

“Hell no,” Steve says.

 


End file.
